Life and Death in Their Eyes
by Smackalicious
Summary: She comes to him because she needs to, and he does not deny that he needs it, too. Giva. Spoilery for Kill Ari I & II and Judgment Day.


**Title: Life and Death in their Eyes  
Pairing: Gibbs/Ziva  
Rating: PG  
Genre: Het  
Cat: Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort  
Spoilers: Suggestions for Kill Ari I & II and Judgment Day.  
Warnings: None.  
Summary: She comes to him because she needs to, and he does not deny that he needs it, too.  
Author's Note: I asked around NFA for prompts and Kayleighbough gave me Giva and the poem Like Lavrinia by Kimiko Hahn. (I recommend googling it and reading it.) The piece was begging to be written in my poetry style, so if you've never read my poetry before, this is how I write. There are only certain genres of fic I can write like this, which is why I don't do it that often, but this is more indicative of my real writing style than anything else, because I consider myself a poet above any other kind of writer. That said, read on.**

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She feels endless sometimes. No. Not the right word. Like her life is never ending. Like there's no real point in living anymore. When they all die, it's hard to keep going. And she knows, by all rights, if she were still in Israel, she'd be dead by now. It was written in her blood.

He feels useless sometimes. Yes, useless. He's given up so much and had too much taken from him. He could never keep them alive, either. But it's required that he keep living; Marines do not just die.

It's late and dark when Ziva shows up at Gibbs' door. Or, more specifically, walks inside, to the basement stairs, looks down and clears her throat. He looks up, surprised only momentarily, before his eyes return to their normal clear and bored state of appeared apathy. She steps carefully down the old wooden stairs, images from years past flashing through her mind, of the tragedy and history the two share, in this very room.

Gibbs doesn't say a word, just empties out a jar, releasing a pile of half-rusted screws to the workbench. Blows the dust away. Then the bottle and an inch or so in the jar, hands it to her, watches as her eyes flicker and fade back into their usual calm danger.

The smell of the alcohol burns at her nostrils; she can taste it in her throat even before she takes a drink. It's never been her preferred drink of choice – she is a wine drinker, through and through – but there is something about being here and remembering that makes her want only his bourbon.

He stares at the boat, the newest one he's decided to create, named her Jenny but told no one. His hands are rough and dirty, dusty from the wood he's spent his nights sculpting, shaping into perfection.

It is only slightly disconcerting when she speaks.

"Sometimes I feel as though I have been buried alive and I am content to be in the coffin." Her eyes remain on the floor – cement, gray and worn, stained with blood and too many bad memories. "I cannot breathe, am suffocating, but it is alright. I am at peace with my impending death."

Gibbs is silent still, his blue gaze piercing through the fragile frame of the boat. He knows this is not the time to respond and waits for her to continue.

"You know, my life literally changed upon coming here. I came to find my brother, to bring him back home, only to remove him permanently from this world." Her voice drops an octave. "I had always known the difference between good and evil, but I had never seen them both so involved in the same person before."

She moves away from the workbench, pacing the few feet between herself and the edge of the new boat. She had been wanting to come here, felt some need to tell him all this. Perhaps it is because she knows he, too, is hurting, feels unworthy of life at times, too.

"Life is worth living." Her words surprise him and Gibbs only then looks to her, but she is not paying attention, only addressing the words she's so carefully put together in her mind. "I have not always seen it and never expected to grow old, not from what my father told me." She pauses in her movement and is still. "It is sometimes hard to love when you believe you have no future."

His hand closes into a fist. He's never wanted her to believe that, to go through life thinking she was expendable, a removable pawn in a game. He's never wanted anyone to believe that. But mostly her. She's so young. Too young and beautiful to lose that faith.

Her eyes meet his for the first time since she started talking. They are sad and scared and alive, all at the same time. "I do not want to lose my chance. This isn't right, but it is what I need. And I know you need it, too."

She places the jar, the bourbon mostly untouched, on the bench and waits for him to come to her. He does, soon, and it is only a moment before Gibbs' heavy lips are on her own, breathing life down her throat.

Ziva is so content in this moment, passionate, her only thought the silver-haired man holding her, and how, while he proves her future to her, she gives him hope for what he has given up. They both know this is temporary and fleeting, will never be more than long kisses and slow, careful sex, their bodies entwined for whatever time they can spare away from the rest, and it will never come to more than that.

For now, it doesn't matter. She is lost and he finds her, he is cold and she warms him, they are both seeking death and find life in each other.

As he pulls away from her, his hand brushing her hair from her face, their eyes meet and he says, "We will survive."

**END**


End file.
